My Unconventional Life
by simply woven
Summary: Henry-centric. A school assignment of Henry's that asks him to write about his life,who he is and where he comes from. A look into his point of view and opinions on how he was raised, who is parents are, etc. Enjoy!
1. Assignment

This takes place around the same time as my story "To Reminisce." An essay written by Henry about his "Unconventional Life" for a creative writing class. This chapter is the actual assignment.

Disclaimer: I don't own ER or Henry.

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Henry Weaver-Lopez

12/18/2018

Mrs. Bellew

Fourth Block

AP Creative Writing

**Assignment:**

Write a detailed essay about your past. Include individual biographies on your parents and other family members (brothers, sisters, etc.) as well as any anecdotes, traditions, etc. Discuss whether your family is unique or not and explain why. I want you to tell me who you are and where you come from using your skills.

**Due Date:**

This must be typed and handed in no later than January 5th, 2018. Failure to do so will result in a ten point deduction each day it's late (i.e. if it's handed in on the 6th, there will be an automatic ten point deduction, if it's handed in on the 7th, ten more points will be abstracted, etc.)

**Grading System:**

The actual writing (spelling, grammar, etc.) will be graded objectively; if it's wrong, it's wrong and there will be a deduction of two points for each grammatical or spelling mistake- please be sure to triple check your work before handing it in. On the contrary, the message you are portraying (your story) will be graded subjectively; if I feel you've done your best, you will receive a fair grade.


	2. Response

This is Henry's response to his assignment...enjoy :)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them

Spoilers: Seasons 7-13

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**My "Unconventional" Life **

**by: Henry Weaver-Lopez**

Well, as you can probably tell from the above heading, my name is Henry. I'm fourteen years old and live a pretty plain life. No matter the simplicity of my current life, however, some people consider where I come from to be "unconventional", and they are right, in more than one sense. I suppose I don't mind the label; different isn't always bad. That moral has been drilled into my brain since I was very young: _different doesn't mean bad._ So, I guess I'll tell you about the unconventionality of where I come from, starting at the beginning:

I was born on December 14th, 2003 to two loving mothers. Yes, you've read that correctly, two mothers; two mothers whose names are Dr. Kerry Weaver and Lt. Sandy Lopez. To lay things out before I continue, I call Kerry "Mom" and Sandy "Mama". As I said, I was born on December 14th, 2003, which means I was conceived sometime in April. Conceived, though the scientifically correct word, doesn't hold the same meaning in my case as it does to most others; I wasn't created in your normal "The Birds and the Bees" fashion. Instead, I was formed via in vitro fertilization, better known to many as "in a Petri dish."

My mom, Kerry, is the most interesting, dynamical person I know. She too comes from a rather alternative family; she was adopted as an infant by two loving parents, Lillian and Henry (hence my name) Weaver. Being missionaries, they brought her to Kenya where she spent the first twelve years of her childhood. At age two, she was diagnosed with congenital hip dysplasia- which can better be explained by saying her hip socket was too shallow to accommodate her femur, leaving it dislocated- and began walking with a forearm crutch; dubbing her physically disabled, though she never let it faze her. She attended medical school in the states and became an emergency room physician; something she says she'd always wanted to be. She worked at County General Hospital in Chicago from 1995 until 2007; starting as a resident, then becoming an attending, then the Chief of the ER, then to Chief of Staff, only to be demoted back to an attending before she resigned. Within those twelve years, she made both friendships and enemies, saved countless lives and made many revelations about herself. One, which came about in 2000 and ultimately shaped my life, was that she wasn't heterosexual. Though she had lived the life of a straight woman for her entire life, even having had a marriage with a man, she came to the realization by way of a psychiatrist who worked at County when she was in her thirties. About a year after their short-lived relationship ended, she met her wife; my mama. Within two years, I came along. Just three months after my birth, however, my mama, a firefighter, died on the job when a burning building collapsed on her (we'll get back to that later.) My mom spent the next three months fighting my mama's parents for custody of me, a battle that she evidently won. So, she raised me as a single mother. It wasn't always easy, I'm sure, but in my opinion, she's done a brilliant job. When I was just barely three years old, the pain her physical disability caused finally needed to be resolved and she underwent a total hip replacement, ridding her of the forearm crutch she'd used for so long; with the ridding of her aluminum companion, she says she "began a new, softer chapter of her life." A year later she began seeing Courtney, a television producer, who offered her a part time job being a reporter on medical pieces for the local news station after seeing my mom in action at the hospital. Accepting, though reluctantly, she began doing bits on childhood obesity, the risks of UV rays and simmilar topics. Little did she know that that side job would lead to a job here, in Miami, as a reporting M.D. for channel six. I love my mom more than anything or anyone in this world; she's a woman with a colorful background, and has made sure I don't view the world in black and white.

My mama, Sandy, is someone who I have little of. Sure, I'm half her- her blood course through my veins, I have her eyes, skin and hair, and her last name is hyphenated next to my moms on this paper- but I have no memory of her. I do, however, know nearly everything about her, although the information didn't come straight from the horses' mouth; what I know is what I've been taught. This is what I do know: Sandra Maria Lopez was born on July 20th, 1974 to Florina and Jorge Lopez. She was the fifth of six children- the only girl; Carlos, Luis, Jose, Eduardo, Sandy and Miguel. She was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois and, unlike my mom, she discovered her sexuality in high school and readily accepted it, though my traditional grandparents weren't as compliant. My mama joined the fire department right out of high school, as did her younger brother Miguel. Though she'd had brief relations with other women, my mom was her first and only serious lover. They met at the hospital after my she had cut her hand on the job; from then on, they were together. A year later, when they decided to first try for a baby, they both agreed my mom would be the one to carry. That, however, didn't work out as planned. Only a few months later, my mom brought it up again, and suggested my mama try to conceive. Her work being so demanding, she refused at first, but after a bit of arm twisting, she finally agreed, and I was created. Two months after I was born, my mama returned to the job she loved and once again took position as Lt. Lopez. A little more than a month after her return, a warehouse was set on fire. Her station was called out and they tried to put it out as Sandy and two other men searched for people. Little did they know, the warehouse had been abandoned. The ravaging inferno soon consumed the building and it collapsed on the three. They were brought to my mom's hospital, County, and were worked on in the ER by many of my mom's co-workers. My mama had a crushed pelvis, broken ribs and was bleeding internally. They brought her up to surgery where she was operated on, however, she didn't make it off the table; she died. She was twenty nine. My mom says she was a wild person, always loud and outgoing; she says that's where I get my "Latino fire" from. I could easily say I miss my mama, but I find myself asking how I can miss someone I never really grew to know. So instead, I resent the facts that I didn't have the chance to grow up with both of my mothers, that my mom had her wife taken away from her, and that I'll never know my mama first hand.

After the death of my mama, the battle over my custody between my grandparents and mom took place, emotionally testing to both parties. Even though the outcome favored my mom, I still spent nearly every day my mom worked, as well as many holidays, with them. When my mom decided to move to Miami in 2007, they protested the decision. However, my mom must have reasurred them they'd be able to visit, because not a single year went by that they didn't visit, at least not until they got sick. About two years ago, both my grandmother and grandfather got increasingly ill. My grandfather died last May from emphysema and my grandmother this past October from heart disease. Of course I miss them, but I realize and am thankful for all they've done for me by allowing me to be with my mom.

I do realize that there isn't much about me specifically in this essay, as that was my goal- the point I wanted to prove; my unconventional life has near nothing to do with me. I come from an ethnically and culturaly diverse background that was developed by people whom I owe everything to: my mothers and their families.

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written, published, completed 12/20/09

R&R :)


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